In The Thick of Elections
by UnderAGlassMoon
Summary: It's election time and with the world of British politics in absolute disarray, it's up to Malcolm Tucker and company to try and get the votes voting. Some original characters as well as Thick of It characters in an adaptation of current events and such!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all! This is my first attempt at recapturing the brilliant political satire that is 'The Thick of It'! I've tried to mix up current events with some of the colourful characters from the series as well as making up my own. I'm not so hot on politics so be sure to pick up on any glaring irregularities as well as giving suggestions for Malcolm Tucker's cursing. I've tried to stay original on that regard! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter 1**

Malcolm Tucker was not impressed.

Most of the windows in the Home Office were open, the air conditioners were all broken, in an attempt to find relief from the May summer heat. Civil servants sat, unnerved by Malcolm's very presence, trying to gauge his mood from his facial expression. Many were expecting an explosion of profanity that was only befitting of his reputation, only that wasn't quite true; Malcolm only usually provided profanity, only exploding when well and truly pissed off. This time however, he only smiled wryly.

Malcolm Tucker was not impressed, but thankfully for the Home Secretary and anyone within twenty feet of her, Malcolm was not impressed at the announcement of the Tory's lastest pledges for the upcoming general election. "Is that it?" he asked. No one dared answer, as being bollocked by this man is an experience far less than pleasant. "Is that fucking it?" Malcolm asked once more. "Their policies have more fucking holes than a Eastern European brothel."

"Exactly what I thought, Malcolm," agreed Julia Naysmith nervously, the current Home Secretary. The Home Secretary had become a very popular person in the press since she took office during the last cabinet shake up. She barely ever saw Malcolm, which meant that she did her job and did it well. A tall, slender woman with a working class Manchester background, she was famed in the media for being a bit of a looker, as politicians go. "Don't think you're off the hook just yet, sweetheart," Malcolm said ominously. "I still to have a word with you."

Julia's mood sank immediately. Word of the Conservative's patchy-at-best policy announcement wasn't enough to just make Malcolm leave. That was his way; once he was in for the kill, he went straight for the jugular. "Shall we take this to my office then, Malcolm?" Julia asked.

"Aye, fine then. Off you fucking pop," Malcolm said, almost playfully. The Director of Communications followed Julia to her office while she ran over the possible scenarios for Malcolm's unplanned visit. He certainly didn't come just to catch the announcement of Tory policy on their television. As far as she was aware, Julia hadn't done anything wrong but Malcolm's all seeing, all penetrating eye was more than inquisitive enough to notice even the most minor of scruples.

"Take a seat," Julia said once they had arrived in her office. Once sat, she asked, "So Malcolm, what can I do for you today? Would you like some tea, coffee?"

"A fucking ice bath maybe. Your air conditioning fucking broken or something?" Malcolm asked.

"Well observed," Julia said, remembering that throwing some light abuse Malcolm's way might delay the inevitable pounding of abuse.

"Well, the least you could do is provide some buckets for my armpits. They're like the fucking Niagara Falls in this fucking heat," Malcolm said. Being Scottish, he wasn't too fond of the heat and with the summer looking like a really hot one, Malcolm often found he wore a coat of sweat along with his suit jacket.

"So anyway, what brings you here Malcolm?" Julia asked tentatively, hoping not to wake up the rabid dog by poking it with a stick.

"I'm here to congratulate you," Malcolm said plainly.

"Is that it?" Julia blurted.

"Yeah, that's it," replied Malcolm.

Julia sat back in her seat, blew a sigh a relief and said, "For fuck's sake Malcolm, here I was thinking you're pining for blood or something!"

"No, no, no darling, if I felt like crushing some skulls I would have done that already," Malcolm said in his version of reassurance. "The PM is very happy with your work in the run-up. You've made the Shadow Home Secretary look like a pickled fucking gangrened scab which is quite a feat, given the initial warm feelings towards the opposition's proposals for shaking up the Home Office."

"So what are you bloody here for Malcolm, apart from making me think that you're not really you?" Julia inquired.

"Can't believe I'm here just to give you a fucking pat on the head?" Malcolm asked with a coy smile.

"Bluntly, no, I can't. You always at least maim somebody when you visit a department, especially unannounced like this."

Malcolm's smile swiftly disappeared, replaced by a pained expression. Julia immediately become worried and tense. "Well, the thing is, it's more to do with a certain person you're associated with than you yourself," Malcolm said.

"For crying out loud, not this whole Matt Harper thing again?" Julia asked.

"Yes, this whole, Lord Matthew Harper thing again!" Malcolm said. "Look, like it or not, Harper cocked up big time when the Daily fucking Mail got him accepting bribes to influence the democratic fucking process. The only reason I didn't fucking lynch him with my shoelaces there and then was that a turd on the side of the road had a better fucking reputation than the Labour party at the time with the whole expenses clusterfuck."

Malcolm quickly cleared his throat and continued. "So in conclusion, you need to cut off all ties with that corrupt piece of goat shit."

"Malcolm, you know my husband's an old friend of his!" Julia exclaimed. "I can't just ask him to not speak to him anymore!"

"That's exactly what I want you to do," Malcolm said. "I don't give two shits about this 'once at Oxbridge, always at Oxbridge shit'; your husband just needs to sever all ties with the prick."

"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," Julia said, no longer able to look Malcolm in the eye.

"Look sweetheart, your political career has been immaculate so far. That's better than 99 point 9 percent of the tossers out there who call themselves politicians. But this Lord Harper cunt threatens to be a big, fucking shitstain across that clean record of yours and trust me, this shitstain will be very, fucking hard to clean off and very, very smelly."

Julia blew a sigh of exasperation and put her face into her hands. "There's nothing you can do?" she asked.

"Look, I've tried my best to make you look all innocent in the whole fucking expenses debacle and I almost succeeded until the fucking Daily Telegraph took a fucking picture of your husband and Darth Harper playing fucking golf together, being all buddy-buddy and touching knobs and all that shite," Malcolm explained. "There is enough dirt there for a conservatives to build a fucking mountain in your yard and that is why you are going to release a statement that your husband and Lord Harper had a falling out over his dodgy political practices by the end of the week. If you do that, your record stays fucking squeaky clean. Hell, I'll even fucking get on my knees and spit shine it for you if you get this done. _If_ you get this done."

"That's not all, is it though? You'll actually want my husband not to see him," Julia noted.

"That goes without saying, love. They can do all they want for all I fucking care, when and I mean _when_, the elections are done with and the general public believe all politicians are saints again."

Julia blankly stared across her office for a moment before looking Malcolm right in the eyes. "There's no other course of action?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, no," Malcolm replied. "You need to distance yourself from Lord Harper. Lock him in your fucking basement and throw away the key, whatever. The Conservatives _will_ use your husband's ties to Lord Harper to try and bring you into disrepute. This kind of thing so close to elections will be all over the front pages faster than a high resolution photo of Katie Price's disease ridden minge. We can't risk it, sweetheart, we just can't. I wish the stupid fucker had just resigned his post and saved us the hassle of picking up the droppings after he shits everywhere but unfortunately, at the time, we couldn't sack him and unfortunately, he is still a member of our esteemed party. This is your one and only option."

Julia Naysmith gave out one final sigh before saying, "Fine, I'll tell my husband the score. Gordon better fucking appreciate this."

"Listen, I fucking appreciate this, all right? It isn't easy darling but with it being so close to elections, the shit has to be caught and flushed away before it gets anywhere near the fan," Malcolm said.

"Okay, okay, I get it Malcolm. I'll get it done by tomorrow. It'll be on BBC News before you know it," Julia said before standing up and pacing about the rear of her office.

"Glad to hear it. That's why you're our number 1 cabinet minister," Malcolm said. "Right, I'm off to rape the Education Secretary right in the nostrils. You keep up the good work, Julia."

Malcolm's apparent aura of evil seemed to linger even after he left which left Julia stranded in her seat for five minutes. Eventually, when the balance of her office had returned to normal, she went out into the pens that housed the civil servants of the Home Office and yelled, "Gabby, Thomas, get over here!"

"Yes Minister?" asked Gabby Williams, a woman in her forties who thought she had seen it all in the civil service. Short and unremarkable, she was not somebody who stood out or tried to do so. She was the same in her work and tried to do everything by the book. Alongside her was Thomas Adams, a young Cambridge graduate from Buckinghamshire who would be the dictionary definition of posh if possible. He often bemoaned his failure to achieve anything more than being a civil servant with his English degree from Cambridge and despite his obvious ability to get things done, he would always complain first.

"Draft me a statement. I need it done quickly," Julia said.

"What would the subject matter be, may I ask?" Thomas enquired.

"Oh shit, yes!" Julia cursed. "Um, the business with Lord Matthew Harper. Say in no uncertain terms that my husband is binning him."

"'Binning', him?" Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No longer friends with, no longer associates with, something like that! What was it Malcolm said?" Julia wondered out loud.

"Was it something Malcolm said to get you this flustered?" Gabby inquired.

"What do you think, Gabby?!" Julia snapped. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell at you."

"No problem minister," Gabby said.

"You were saying what Malcolm had said?" Thomas pressed.

"Um, had a falling out over Lord Harper's political practices, that was it!" Julia said. "Stop any work you were doing. Just work on this statement and have it handed into my office by the end of the day."

"Yes Minister," Gabby said before walking back to her desk.

"Um, about the air conditioning?" Thomas asked.

"For Christ's sake Thomas, deal with it! None of us are keeping cool either, in both senses of the bloody word!" Julia cried before retreating back to her office. She had enough of Malcolm Tucker to last her a lifetime and hopefully this would be it from him until after the election.

* * *

Julia's statement had gone off without a hitch and Malcolm felt like the week was coming to a good end with Labour looking like they had a slim lead in the polls. With three weeks until election day, he needed every piece of good news possible to keep his blood pressure from going Chernobyl. "Thanks Sam," he said to his secretary as she handed him a portfolio and a cup of tea. He skimmed through the documents, mainly reports on all the ministers and front bench MP's, making sure that everybody was keeping to the party line, up to and including every bit of punctuation. Any deviation would be dealt with severely. Thankfully, everything seemed to be going well and Julia Naysmith's statement seemed to have gone well with the press. She was one of the few politicians that escaped the MP's expenses fiasco unscathed and it seemed the press and the public genuinely liked her. Keeping it that way would help Labour's election bid to no end.

"Malcolm?" said Sam after knocking on his office door.

"Yes Sam?" Malcolm asked.

"Jamie McDonald is here to see you. He says it's urgent."

"Send him in then."

Jamie McDonald, Number 10's senior press office was also known as the 'crossest man in Scotland', quite the reputation given that he worked alongside Malcolm Tucker often. "Have you fucking seen what that cunt Harper's went and fucking done?" Jamie asked, his face tomato red.

"Oh for fuck's sake. Has he thrown the toys out the fucking pram?" Malcolm muttered.

"He's thrown the babies out of the fucking pram, fed them to a fucking hippopotamus and then fucking bludgeoned the hippo to death with the cunting pram, that's what he's went and fucking done," Jamie replied, switching on the television in Malcolm's office.

Lord Harper was giving a live and exclusive interview to Sky News as they were speaking. "So you're saying that this statement was Labour engineered spin?" asked the news anchor.

"Julia Naysmith's statement _is_ Labour engineered spin. I have a perfectly amicable relationship with Robert Naysmith, her husband. It is well publicised that we went to Oxford together and we play golf together often. The government are simply hanging me out to dry which is shocking, coming from my own party. I expected more," Lord Harper answered.

"Did you fuck expect more you treacherous wee shite!" Malcolm yelled.

"He's turning into a right cunt, he is," Jamie agreed.

"But what of the allegations of corruption directed towards you? Surely that's affected your standing within the Labour party?" the news anchor enquired.

"If I had done anything wrong, my party would have done something about it. This is the work of the government trying to manipulate even their own cabinet ministers and their family. I know both Robert and Julia and as friends of mine they would not allow this without a fight. What you're seeing is the spin of Malcolm Tucker in an underhanded attempt to gain favour in the election run-up. As of today, I am resigning my post as a peer from the House of Lords and wiping my hands clean of the Labour party as I can no longer support a party that forces their own ministers to go against their friends. If the government is willing to manipulate their own ministers, then what do you think they will do to the public and the voters?"

Malcolm's face contorted into an abominable grimace and said, "I am going to rip that cunt's fucking spine right out of his throat and shove it so far up his fucking arse that I puncture his fucking lungs!"

"Is there a chance that he'll lack enough credibility to get this to run?" Jamie asked.

"I didn't think he had enough credibility to fucking breathe but these Sky News cunts seem to be eating it up. Just about anything could fucking happen in the run-up. What do you reckon?" Malcolm said.

"We might get the Independent, the Guardian, maybe the Mirror to call this guy the fucking twatbag that he is. There's a good chance the Mail and the Telegraph with try to rape us with this shite, maybe even the Times," Jamie said. "And trust anything owned by Rubert fucking Murdoch will try to royally fuck us right up the shitter with this."

"Jesus fuck!" Malcolm cursed. "Right, I need you working until you starting sweating kidneys on this Jamie. I want first editions of tomorrow's papers so hot I could brand a fucking cow with them."

"I'll get on that Malcolm. What the fuck are you going to do though?"

"I'm going to get Julia Naysmith to keep her trap and the trap of that cunt husband of hers shut. They can't get involved, no fucking way. Next, I'm going to find the nearest double-ended fucking dildo so I can shove it twelve inches right into Lord Harper's fucking eye socket! He needs to be fucking silenced. Not another word can come from him."

"Malcolm, he's resigned his post. What could you do to silence him?" Jamie asked.

"He's trying to bring down Julia Naysmith and me with him. That's still party fucking politics if I'm not mistaken. And don't worry, there will be no shortage of buses to run his fat arse over; all fucking driven by me!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Author's Note: Slight change to the last bit. I introduced the character Thomas Adams as a civil servant. What I meant to do was introduce him as a junior policy advisor to Julia Naysmith. Anyway, on with the story!

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Malcolm Tucker, ever efficient in his endeavours to spin and to bollock as much as his heart desired, found himself in his Downing Street office earlier than usual. Except that his office would be better described as a war room for the things Malcolm had planned. The television was set to Sky News and his internet explorer had all its tabs stuffed to the brim with the websites of the BBC, the Daily Telegraph, the Guardian, the Independent and every other newspaper Malcolm could think of at 7:30 in the morning. It would be a long day indeed and he had already made his way through his first cup of tea by his ever studious secretary Sam who seemed to always be in the office just that little bit earlier than Malcolm. That and the fact that she was hardly ruffled by the rages and profanity were the reasons she remained in his employ.

Jamie arrived shortly afterwards into Malcolm's office, one of the few members of staff who could get away with just walking into the Director of Communication's office unannounced. "Papers are all shit," Jamie muttered.

"What, all of them?" Malcolm asked in surprise.

"Well, shit as in nothing we didn't expect," Jamie explained. "Although some of the tabloids are making it look like a personal fucking, fight 'til your spleen gives out deathmatch between you and Matty Harper."

"For fuck's sake," Malcolm cursed. "So I'm the fucking story then?"

"In the Sun and of course the Mail," Jamie replied.

Malcolm shook his head and forced a smile on his face. "Trust the fucking Mail," he muttered. "Right, get some of those wankers that work for you and get them to tell the Sun and the Daily fucking Mail that this is in no way, shape or form, personal between Matt Harper and myself and if they try to run with that shite again, I'll dock a massive fucking cargo ship in right into their offices. Next, you and me will speak to Julia Naysmith and tell her to keep her mouth and her fucking husband's mouths shut, before we barge in on Matt Harper and make this fucking personal."

"You want to see Harper?" Jamie asked with some surprise.

"See, maim, fucking lacerate with an ice-pick, whatever," Malcolm snapped.

"Right-o," Jamie said before getting the Downing Street press team into action.

* * *

"This isn't good," Thomas Adams muttered at his desk. "Trust the time that Richard goes on a fact-finding mission for everything to kick up." Richard Hoddle was Julia Naysmith's senior policy advisor and Thomas was almost an understudy to him. However, Richard Hoddle found himself lodged firmly in a Newcastle immigration office and not due back until the next day. "Julia can still phone him you know," Gabby Williams pointed out halfway through a croissant.

"Yes, I know she can phone him but I'm still the one left manning the fort, cleaning up all the mess," Thomas continued.

"You're only the junior advisor so you really shouldn't worry that much," Gabby reasoned.

"_Only _the junior advisor? Fantastic motivational speaking there Gabby. Made me feel infinitely better," Thomas muttered.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. God, you're extra moany today," Gabby said.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter whether I'm junior or seniorest…is that right, seniorist?"

"Most senior," Gabby corrected.

"Right, the most senior. I still have piles of rubbish to clear off my desk with this Lord Harper fiasco."

"Don't call it a fiasco; you're making it sound worse than it is."

It was at that moment that Thomas noticed both Malcolm and Jamie storm into the office, immediately making the day a write off. There was no chance of anything good from their visit. "Speaking of worse, look who it is," Thomas said, turning in his seat to face the two Scots.

"I'm off to the loo," Gabby said before making her escape.

"What, no Gabby!" Thomas whispered loudly.

"Looks like mummy's fucking run off then," Jamie said. "What's wrong posh spice? Not got your fucking teet to suck on?"

"Hello Jamie, nice to see you too," Thomas said.

"Right, fuck you too," Malcolm interjected. "Where's Julia?"

"She's…she's not in yet. Traffic probably," Thomas said.

"For fuck's sake," Jamie said who was visibly agitated. "This is a disaster partly of her own making and she can't even fucking make it into the office on time!"

"Jamie, I'd rather you didn't call it a disaster just yet. It's hardly that," Thomas requested.

"What would you like me to fucking call it?" Jamie asked with a look in his eyes which spelled certain death if Thomas pushed the issue.

"Uh…never mind," Thomas said.

"Is Richard in?" Malcolm enquired after a moment of silence.

"Um…no. He's in Newcastle dealing with some immigration calamity they've had," Thomas replied.

"Jesus fuck," Malcolm said. "So you're standing in for the senior advisor then?"

"Well, not really…"

"You are, aren't you? Look at that, young and bright Oxbridge lad, climbing his way up the ladder," Malcolm said with a smile.

"All that responsibility too," Jamie added, glancing towards Malcolm. "Imagine, the senior advisor is out and the junior advisor's call could make or break it."

"Make or break it," Malcolm agreed, nodding his head.

"Imagine if he made the wrong call? What would happen?" Jamie then asked.

"What would happen?" Malcolm asked back, his eyes widening and his tone raised in a most mocking fashion.

Thomas gulped and shifted about uneasily in his seat. He did not like this one bit.

"Oh, I know," Jamie said. "His career would be, um, what are those two words starting with f and d?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Malcolm said.

"Oh yeah," Jamie said before slamming his hands on Thomas's table and moving right up to his face. "Fucking. Dead."

Jamie retreated from the area in front of Thomas's now considerably flustered face and adjusted his tie and suit. Julia then arrived, much to the relief of Thomas. "Ah, Julia! Just the lady I wanted to see!" Malcolm said, walking towards the minister with his arms outstretched. Jamie, on the other hand, pointed two fingers towards his eyes before pointing them at Thomas in a classic 'I'm watching you' style before following Malcolm and Julia to her office.

"What's the issue Malcolm?" Julia asked while placing her bag in her chair. She then started struggling with her coat before Jamie piped in. "Let me help you with that," he said, taking her coat off and propping it up on the hook on the door.

"That's awfully nice of you Jamie," Julia noted. "You're usually more…rough, shall we say?"

"Only when dealing with moronic arseholes," Jamie replied, before his tone dropped. "Like that fucking treacherous cunt of a friend your husband has."

"Well, that's one way to put it," Julia said with a sigh. "So I guess the plan is I shut up and carry on with helping keep this party in power?"

Malcolm pointed at Julia said, "Bravo, that's exactly what you do, love. Jamie and I will deal with Lord Harper while you keep wooing those voters. I expect a woman of your political pedigree to have understood."

"Fine, that's fine," Julia said. "So then…what's this sudden meeting about?"

"One thing, actually two things now," Malcolm said. "First off, your husband cannot say a word to the press. Not even a fucking fart. He has to stay out of this completely. If approached by reporters, he has to decline to comment. I think neutral is the best way to go."

"Well, I advised him to do that much this morning," Julia said.

"See that?" Malcolm said, looking toward Jamie. "She knew the fucking line before I even told her."

"That's why we love her," Jamie said with a smile.

"I work for the Home Office; I have to deal with other crises you know," Julia muttered.

"Yes we know, we're not patronising you or anything," Malcolm said.

"Just letting you know that you're fucking amazing at your job, hence why you hardly ever see me," Jamie said.

"Okay, thanks I guess," Julia said. "What's the other point?"

"Oh yeah," Malcolm said. "See your little door boy out front? Is he a bit of a Mr Dependable?"

"Who? You mean Thomas?" Julia asked.

"Well, the thing is," Jamie began, "Malcolm and I see Thomas as a bit of wet paper bag, said bag being wet because someone just pissed on it. We're just wondering whether he's old enough to man the shop by himself, you know, without seriously injuring himself on all those sharp objects."

"You don't trust him?" Julia enquired with a surprised tone. "He's got a good head on him, very intelligent, if a bit snarky but he's got great potential."

"You see, potential is all well and good," Malcolm pointed out, "but you took him on, what, two months ago? About three months since the Home Office had its last cock up that you and Richard Hoddle did a fine job in making go away, with a little of my help. Your boy though…"

"Thomas," Julia interjected.

"Yeah, yeah, he has a name that I'm not very interested in. Your boy, he doesn't look like he's up to the task," Malcolm explained.

"What makes you think that?" Julia asked.

"Malc and I gave him a bit of light ribbing before and he looked like he was about to have a fucking stroke," Jamie replied. "He'll most certainly, fantastically implode under pressure."

"So what do you propose I do? Call Richard back from Newcastle? Every bloody press knob with a notepad will be all over that," Julia pointed out.

"Yes, we understand that. Just…just have somebody babysit him. If you need to make a big call which we hope you won't have to, give Richard a call. By all means listen to Thomas's advice, but don't necessarily follow it," Malcolm said.

"How is Thomas going to learn about crisis management if you won't fucking let him manage a crisis?" Julia snapped.

"Not this close to the fucking election," Malcolm said. "If the polls are to be believed, then the Tories look set to shaft us. I don't need a junior advisor's cock-up providing lubrication."

"Jesus Malcolm, really?" Julia said, appalled by his choice of violent, sexual imagery.

"Just make sure that prick has someone on hand to change his nappies and clean up any shite he leaves around," Jamie said. "Otherwise, you've got things covered?"

"Quite," Julia replied.

"Good. We're off to castrate Lord Harper. Enjoy your day and I'll see you at the election victory party," Malcolm said with a smile.

"Goodbye," Julia said nervously as the two Scots left her office.

* * *

Just as Malcolm and Jamie were about to step into their car, another one pulled up and the passenger hastily made his way out. "Well, if it isn't the right honourable Lord Julius Nicholson himself?" Malcolm said with a wide grin.

"Hello Malcolm, hello James," greeted Lord Nicholson, who was the Business Secretary and Lord President of the Council. In many ways, he was the Prime Minister's number two yet at the same time, nowhere near that position. Famously soft spoken within the Labour Party, he was also famous for his distinct lack of hair.

"Morning Baldy," Jamie replied with what he called Julius every time he was called 'James' by him.

"A little birdie told me that you two would be here and I'm rather lucky to have caught you when I have," Julius said. "Right, so you two are about to see Lord Harper, right?"

"Who told you?" Jamie enquired in a tone not too dissimilar to a growl.

"Well, knowing the current situation, you are tying up loose ends so first you see Julia and then off to foul mouth Lord Harper. It's only logical," Julius replied.

"Yeah, but who told you?" Jamie asked, this time edging up to Nicholson's face.

"I won't reveal my sources Jamie, you know I wouldn't do that," Julius said, beginning to fold under Jamie's intimidation.

"For fuck's sake, is it someone in my department?" Jamie asked who was visibly outraged. "My fucking department?"

"Well, it's hardly a department, more a team…" Julius began unwisely.

"Yes! _MY FUCKING DEPARTMENT_, who make sure on a daily basis that all you twatbag, fucking, CUNT ministers look good in the fucking press. They can also, very fucking easily I might add, make you look like the biggest, fucking, shite in living history should the PM require it. So what shall it be, Julius? Shall I say to The Sun that you keep a picture of Andrew Flintoff to wank off to every night? Or that you keep a cricket stump to push up your arsehole to tickle your fucking prostate? What shall it be?" was Jamie's tirade in response to Julius's suggestion that Jamie was less than he made out to be.

"There's absolutely no need for threats, James. We're both on the same team trying to win an election, remember," Julius said, while perspiration became apparent on his hairless head.

"Yes, so tell me who it was, in _my_ fucking department, who told you where we were, so I can fire the fucking cunt and make sure that Malcolm and I can do the job we do so fucking well without ministers not involved in press incidents to come and fucking interfere," Jamie said.

"It was Liam," Julius spurted without thought. "Wait… I didn't mean to…"

"Fucking Liam," Jamie muttered.

"Told you that cunt was a cunt," Malcolm said.

"Yes I know. I'll fire him when we get back," Jamie said, heading towards the car.

"Wait! There may be some things you need to know when you approach Lord Harper…"

"Did he just say he knows things?" Malcolm interjected, looking towards Jamie.

"I think he just did," Jamie said.

"Right Baldemort, you are coming with us," Malcolm said, grabbing Julius by the arm.

"Malcolm, you can't do this! I have a department to run, you can't just grab me away like this!" Julius protested.

"If you have information on Matthew Harper, then you've suddenly become an asset in press incident management so welcome aboard," Malcolm said, pushing him into their car.

"Maybe I won't have to fire Liam," Jamie mused.

"The cunt's a cunt, fucking fire him already," Malcolm said.

"All fucking right, I'll fire Liam," Jamie said.

"I don't want to be here," Julius whimpered.

"Well, you're here baldy. Enjoy the fucking ride," Malcolm said as the car pulled away.

The driver of the other car was left absolutely bemused by what he just saw. Not knowing what to do, he took his minister's abandonment as a cue to take the rest of the day off. Meanwhile, Malcolm, Jamie and a very scared Julius were formulating a plan to make Lord Harper back down, and back down for good.


End file.
